This makes a winning coupling, unexpected though it may be. Maxim Vengerov, always an inspirational artist, gives positive, passionate performances of both works, finding a purposeful logic in music that can in lesser hands seem wayward. He is helped in the Dvorak Violin Concerto by being recorded live. Though the recording, made in Avery Fisher Hall in January 1997, makes the orchestra sound a little congested, the violin is beautifully caught, the daringly wide dynamic and tonal range of Vengerov’s playing on his 1723 Stradivarius being fully exploited. He is masterly in conveying the sharp changes of mood in this unconventionally shaped work, at one moment purposeful, at another deeply reflective. This, more than most rivals – even Tasmin Little and Itzhak Perlman – conveys an improvisational quality, intensifying the Slavonic flavours, making the music sparkle, bringing out the fun and fantasy.
The slow movement is yearningly beautiful, heartstoppingly tender thanks to Vengerov’s use of the subtlest half-tones, while the finale is as light and resilient as a Slavonic dance. In this, Masur is the most sympathetic accompanist, persuading his American players to evoke the music’s Czech flavours.
In some ways, particularly for the British listener, the Elgar Sonata is an even more exciting choice of work, and certainly it gives wonderful promise of what this inspired young virtuoso will do when he tackles the Elgar Violin Concerto, as surely he must. My favourite among existing versions is Lydia Mordkovich’s on Chandos, and I am fascinated to find a similarity of approach between these two fine Russian violinists of different generations. Here again the sharp changes of mood invite an improvisational quality, which both artists naturally respond to.
In the central Andante, the most elusive of the three movements, they make the music flow more easily than either Kennedy (at the beginning of his career) or Menuhin, finding plenty of fantasy, not least in the tricky little upward flourishes. Mordkovich may respond a little more readily to the elegiac quality of this late work, but Vengerov’s big, bold manner in the outer movements brings out the music’s masterfully testing original effects and sonorities which reflect the fact that Elgar was himself a violinist, loving what a violin can do.
The pianist, Revital Chachamov, makes an ideal partner, and the recording, made in the Teldec Berlin studios as long ago as 1995, is nicely balanced. What a pity we have had to wait so long for these two outstanding performances, maybe because no one thought of putting them together sooner.'